Shit we do for love

This is about to get gross. Not in a mushy way, lovey dovey, kind of gross, but the gross that makes you lose appetite and wonder what the hell I’m smoking to be writing about this.

So Fiance came down with a bad case (not that there is a good case) of what I’ve diagnosed as gastroenteritis. This is commonly known as stomach flu. She woke up at 5 a.m. Sunday and promptly erupted out both ends. We both ate the same things lately, so aren’t sure how she got it except from her family, who also had it over the weekend after Thanksgiving.

These violent bouts of vomit and diarrhea need cleaning up after. I also have to fight her to stay in bed while I clean the house and throw away grocery bags full of stomach acid. There’s an intimacy one gains when dealing with a loved one’s bodily fluids all over underwear and clothing that isn’t found elsewhere.

We called the nurse and followed her instructions, allowing fiance a tablespoon of water only after 90 minutes since the last puke session. It took a few tries before she kept it down. Then we gradually increased the water dosage every fifteen minutes over the next two hours. She would beg me for more water after 7 minutes since her last gulp, but I had to stay firm. It was brutal.

By the end of the night, she was sipping at a Gatorade while we watched Community on DVD.

This morning, we went to her doctor for an appointment we already had to get her IUD taken out. She’s had it for two years, and we nearly have it paid off. However, the constant cramps have made getting rid of it necessary, back to the Depo shot.

She likes to have me in the room with her because of a fear of doctors. I don’t mind. When the doctor asked if she should do a pap smear while she was at it, Fiance said yes. The doctor stepped out of the room while Fiance took off her pants. Because of the last 24 hours, the following conversations were possible. I apologize for nothing.

Fiance: It’s one thing to have you in here while they take out the IUD, but it’s weird to also have a pap smear done with you here.

Me: Why, will it make you gag?

Fiance: Oh my god.

The doctor came in, removed the IUD in about 3 seconds, and did the pap smear. She was kind enough to run the speculum under warm water first. Fiance: That’s why having a woman doctor rocks. Doctor: I know how it is.

With the Depo shot done, fiance clothed, and writing her address down for a reminder card about the next shot appointment, I made my move while she was distracted.

Me: Can I gross you out?

Fiance: Sure.

Me: The speculum is still right there if you want to take a whiff.

Fiance: What the hell is wrong with you?

Me: You don’t have to do it directly; you can waft it like they do in chemistry labs.

Fiance: Why. Why are you so horrible?

Me: You said I could gross you out.

Fiance: You know why I love you? Even though you’ve had to see me at my worst and most vulnerable, you can still make me laugh about it. Thanks. 

De-evolution of compsure

Tonight I picked up Fiance from her job and we headed up 169 to Anoka for her second dress fitting. Less than a month to go to the wedding. She was unusually fidgety during the drive. We had to stop for traffic a few times, but got there in 40 minutes. As we got closer, I knew that the car would need gas before we took off for home. 

“Should we fill up now since we’re early, or should I go while you are being fitted?”

“Let’s just get there and fill up after.”

“Sure.”

So I sit and read in the small shop while fiance puts on the dress behind a fancy pants curtain. The owner’s small dog plays with me and sits in my lap, batting at my hand every time I try to stop petting her. I am content. A bit sleepy.

Fiance comes out (no breach in protocol here, we picked out the dress together). She looks beautiful. Breathtaking. She’s wearing an amber necklace we bought two months ago. It’s our “old” item, millions of years old.

The dress is wonderful, although some adjustments to the boob area will be made to keep it from looking bunchy. The seamstress says she can take out one of the rib things in the bust area to take care of it. She will do it and come back.

“Why don’t you go fill the car,” fiance says.

It’s 5:30 at this point.

“Sure” I say.

I jump in the car and get to the end of the parking lot that’s near a 4-way stop. Can’t see any gas stations, but there’s some sort of light off to the left that might be a gas station. If only I could turn left. Lots of cars, and it’s getting dark. Good lord will I ever get out of this parking lot? Screw it, here we go.

OK, driving. Driving. Not even sure what that light was I saw before. But I’m back at a main road waiting for the light to change. Dear jesus how long will this light take?

Turning. OK, this is recognizable. There’s the Walgreens we turned near on the way here. Main street. That should be promising. Might as well turn left.

OK, this red light thing is getting annoying.

What is this, like five minutes now sitting here?

Shit.

All right, now I’m on main street in Anoka. Pretty much just drove in a big circle, but now we'll just go straight. There’s got to be a gas station along here somewhere. Perhaps beyond these four red lights in a fucking row.

There’s a Hardee’s. Still no gas station. Will I find one soon? Gas is getting near the red lines of death, but I haven’t heard the beep yet, so that’s good. Wish it wasn’t so dark out. God dammit, still no gas station. Seriously, another light? What the hell is this shit?

How the fuck did I get to fucking Coon Rapids?! Seriously this is all sorts of fucked up. I’m definitely on some kind of main road, since there’s all sorts of places to shop here, Home Depot, fucking Target and shit. Holy motherfucking shitball sandwich There’s a gas station on the wrong damn side of the fucking road, I can’t switch lanes with this stupid dick truck riding right next to me. Holy christ on the cross with a stick up his ass twisted intestines this is so ridiculous. I just want some fucking gas. Is this some sort of gas desert? Do the people of Coon Rapids and Anoka just install fucking pumps in their driveways since there is no son of a bitch gas station shit balls. 

Awesome, more red lights.

This is where dead babies go. This is where dead babies go.

Let’s just turn around. Abort mission. Abort fucking mission.

This Costco parkinglot fucking sucks balls. I want to have costco’s children just so I can beat them.

So Costco has a gas station, but I’m not a member. Can I just drive into these people and siphon their fucking gas? Where the hell is the road back to the street to get back to Anoka. I want to die. Why are you so horrible Coon Rapids?

More red lights. I get back to fiance, who is standing outside the shop since they closed I took so fucking long. It's 5:55. I've been driving for 25 minutes (half of which were at red lights) without getting to a gas station.

“Where were you?”

“ShitballssonofabitchfuckingmotherfuckingroadsredlightsARGHIhatethistownandwanttoblowupagasstationbuttherearenonetobefound.”

“You didn’t even fill up?”

*stare of death*

“Well, let’s just start going home.”

1 mile later, we see a Sinclair station, which when we pull in is not really a gas station but a decoy where cars go to die. Across the highway is a real gas station, which takes about 5 minutes to get to through red lights. I fill up, pee, and we get back to the light to get back onto 169 just as it turns red.

Fucking shit stick slap a bitch this sucks I hate life everyone sucks and there goes the brain aneurism I’ve been waiting for for sweet sweet release from this fucking mortal coil so long fuckers I’ll see you in hell, no? not an aneurism? I have to keep doing this bullshit? Fucking fuck fuck.

Shit.

The worst writing job posting I've seen

I’ve been scouring the web for job postings for two months now. Had a bunch of interviews and promising responses. Sometimes, I’ll cruise Craislist just for kicks, but the number of scams and crap on there usually make it counterproductive. There are so many hours in a day after all.

Until now, my favorite ridiculous requirement for a posting was “Evidence of sensitivity to and acceptance of people from diverse cultures.” That commentary is here

I’m cruising through today’s indeed.com posting, and come across the below ad, which goes above and beyond any previous ridiculousness.

Cosmetic Surgery Article and Content Writing
oDesk - Minnetonka, MN
See original job posting at oDesk »

Hello,

I will offer you a project based job, with a lot of articles to write and I want you to write them for me for $2/article.

I am looking for someone to write approximately 16 descriptions of different cosmetic surgery procedures (~300-500 words each).

The descriptions of the different procedures should include (bus is not limited to):

• Good candidates for the procedure
• Ideal outcome
• How the procedure is performed
• Recovery
• Risks

Furthermore, I will want an additional ~8 articles (~400-600 words each) on certain cosmetic surgery related topics.

Candidates must be fluent in english and have previous writing experience.

If you are interested, I would like to hire you first for a trial write up of one of the procedures, and if I am happy with your work, then hire you for the rest of the project.

I would like to pay you $3.00 for the first/trial article. And then if I am satisfied with your work, pay you $2.00/article for the remaining ~25 articles.

Please respond at your earliest convenience with a cover letter and a short explanation of why I should trust you for this job.

Thanks,

Nate

Where to start with this one? How about the rate of pay expected for a professional writer. For those who don’t write, let me give you an idea. If I’m burning through an article of 300-500 words, I can expect the first draft to take between 20-30 minutes. The research involved before that takes about an hour. This isn’t including revisions and so forth. And working this fast leads to bad writing. So 25 articles would take about a solid week of work. For $51. That's $1.35 an hour. You could move to Indonesia and work for Nike for more money than that.

As a comparison, I recently got paid $100 for a 500 word article for a business. A quick search of common rates for freelance writing is $77 an hour . The low end on another site for writing is $45 an hour. 

Any writer willing to do the above work would be losing money in time and cost of production. Not only that, you get the privilege of writing a trial article for this person just for the pleasure of losing money writing the rest of the articles.

The perception of professional writing as an easy task that doesn’t take years of practice is pretty common. Craigslist often includes ads for business that want people to write for them “for the experience.” This ad is even worse, because I get the impression that since you are being “paid” for the work, the poster will be much more critical and hard to work with than someone just looking for free copy. But more than that, you are saying something about your business by how little you want to pay for the very thing that will help you drive in new customers. What you are saying is not good.

Back to applying for jobs that could reasonably support a life.

The Minnesota Unemployment Insurance kick in the balls

It took fiance about 3 months to go through all the steps necessary for her to get unemployment. She went through North Dakota, then Minnesota. It was a bitch of a system, and I wasn't looking forward to it. Two months after leaving my job because my fiance got a job in the cities, I finally heard from MN unemployment.

Minnesota determined me ineligible for unemployment last night because I didn’t move with my spouse. I called today to talk to them.

Me: Hi, I’m calling about my ineligibility determination.

Her: How can I help you?

Me: First off, I just wanted to check on the part that says pending issues for my second job.

Her: (looking) Well, it appears that that is no longer a pending issue. It has been resolved. It appears you are still working there.

Me: I’m not.

Her: Oh.

Me: That department no longer offers classes, so there’s nothing to teach.

Her: …

Me: So.

Her: …

Me: Did it affect anything?

Her: No.

Me: So despite the fact that that department made cutbacks and is no longer running doesn’t affect things?

Her: No.

Me: OK, let’s talk about the rest of it. I was denied because I’m not married to my fiance?

Her: Yes.

Me: Does it matter that we will be married in 5 weeks?

Her: No. Unfortunately not. The legislature was quite clear on that point.

Me: Or that we’ve been living together for almost 3 years?

Her: Sorry. 

Me: But if we were married, it'd be a different story. 

Her: In most cases. Yes.

Me: Is this how gay people feel?

Her: …

Me: OK, so your saying that because I’m not married yet to the person I’ve been living with and will be marrying in five weeks, and that my second job was cut, which in large part necessitated our move to make enough to sustain ourselves on, I am ineligible.

Her: Well, are you working since then?

Me: I’ve judged some high school debates, but nothing full time or permanent.

Her:  You would have to have another job.

Me: (wishing I said, why would I need unemployment then?) OK, so there’s nothing I can do?

Her: You can appeal to find out for sure.

Me: …

Her: …

Me: …

Her: Is there anything else I can help you with?

Me: I guess not.

Pickledick part II

I’ve posted previously on the topic of resumes, and how they are like ass holes, everyone has an opinion:

This short post is a continuation of that conversation. To recap, the conversation between fiance and hairdresser three weeks ago. 

Hairdresser: I showed your fiancee’s resume to that rich client I talked about. He said it disgusted him. The resume has a lot of problems, and he can see why your fiancee doesn’t have a job.

Fiance:  That’s pretty harsh. I’ve looked at it, and I don’t see anything “disgusting.”

Hairdresser: But this guy is rich, so he knows what he’s talking about. Obviously you should rewrite the resume.

(Since then, I have had two professional recruiters look at the resume, and both have said it looks very professional, and had one or two changes in a simple word choice, which I appreciated)

(cut to yesterday)

Hairdresser: I was in English class yesterday, and for some reason I had your fiancee’s resume on my computer. My English teacher said it was the worst resume he’d ever seen.

Fiance: That’s funny, since he’s been using that resume and has had 12 job interviews in the last couple weeks. It’s working like gangbusters.

Hairdresser: Oh really? I never said it was bad.

This is how bat-shit insane academic culture is

Dean: I’d like to thank you for coming to this meeting to try to clear up some issues we’ve been having. We have determined that your counterpart in math had schitzophrenia, which is why she quit, relieving us of all responsibility to look at our own system and make adjustments to help make this learning center a great tool for students. The other Math person that quit two weeks prior, also after less than a month on the job, does in no way make this a pattern that we should look at to find workable solutions. 

Again, thank you both for coming. I understand that the vague job responsibilities for both of you has been vague and overlapping, which would certainly lead to issues if it weren't for our wonderful open culture. I want you both to feel open and free to discuss anything in this meeting.

Staff member: Well, that being the case, I would like to suggest that there are several ways to improve the learning center.

Dean: What? I’m sorry, It appears you just don’t understand our culture here. There are underpinings to this learning center that you just don’t know.

Staff member: OK. Well. I’d like to suggest that I’ve been teaching students for 8 years now, and while I appreciate input, I feel that every time I discuss what’s going on at the center, I am told I’m doing it wrong.

Faculty member: That’s my job. I’m here to advise you. There are things you just don’t understand. We’ve been working on this center for a whole year, and without that vision, you shouldn’t really speak up.

Staff member: Understood.

(continue for an hour, end meeting, get email to meet with dean two days later)

Dean: You have an edge to you. You really have to tone down that edge and go back to the milk and cookies person you are. I knew you had an edge. I knew it.

Staff member: I was under the understanding that we were to speak openly and make suggestions.

Dean: There’s that edge again. I’d like you to stop talking to anyone else, including your coworkers, about anything work related.

Staff member: I am really learning to live with the condescension. I love this job and enjoy working with the students to make them better writers.

Dean: But are you working with the students too much? They should not be coming to you so often for help.

Staff member: Isn’t that the purpose of the center, to help students become better writers?

Dean: You just don’t understand our culture.